Winter's End
by lindir's gaze
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is a mutant, part of a new generation of people with strange powers no one can explain. He is perfectly happy to lead an ordinary life, until a disaster one rainy night throws him into the middle of the chaos brewing between mutants and humans.


**Chapter 1**

It was raining, and Bilbo had forgotten his umbrella.

He hunched his shoulders and tried to stay close to the small shelter provided by the storefronts as he walked back to his apartment. The rain had already soaked through the hood of his red sweater, and he was quite looking forward to peeling off his sodden clothing and jumping into a hot bath once he got home.

At least his sandwich from Proudfoot's Deli, secured in one of his pockets and wrapped in tin foil, would not be getting wet.

A much appreciated blast of heat welcomed him when he finally made it inside. Bilbo took a moment to try and wring out the soaked sleeves of his sweater, then decided it was a lost cause and began climbing the stairs.

He was on the small landing in the middle of the staircase when one of the second-floor doors opened and shut again with a _snap_. He caught one glimpse of a lime green umbrella swinging into view and cursed under his breath, backing down the stairwell and out of sight.

Lobelia had evidently decided to head out for the night—only his cousin tended to sport such frankly offensive colors. Where she was going in this weather, he had no idea, but he knew well enough that she'd find time to berate him for something or other.

Bilbo was certainly not in the mood for that tonight. Her heels clacked against the wood as she began descending the stairs. He closed his eyes and focused, then melted out of sight.

The first time it had happened, back when he had been a child, had sent his parents into a panic. Once Bilbo had reappeared, his father had brushed it off as a trick of the light, a vision caused by lack of sleep. His mother had not been so convinced. After a few hushed phone calls, they had learned that there were others like him, others with strange abilities that no one knew what to make of. His parents had promptly made him promise to keep his an absolute secret.

That hadn't been much of a challenge. As long as no one actually _saw_ him turn invisible, they were none the wiser.

Case in point: Lobelia had come into sight by now, though she kept her eyes fixed ahead, her face caught in its usual mixture of a scowl and a sneer. Bilbo leaned against the wall and hoped his clothes weren't dripping too loudly. Once his cousin had reached the bottom of the stairs and left the building, he let out the breath he'd been holding and continued upwards.

He was more than content to stay out of the public eye, especially with the scattered uprisings of mutants, as the papers had begun calling them. More than once, he had turned on the TV to find coverage of a protest that had escalated into a fight with the police or the military or whoever happened to be there at the moment. Bilbo had absolutely no interest in being caught up in all that, not least because his invisibility did not make him bulletproof.

But his powers still had their uses in his ordinary life, and he was quite content to keep it that way.

He reached the third floor and unzipped his sweater with a shiver. Perhaps he'd stick his sandwich in the oven while he got a bath running. There was still a little bit of red wine in his pantry, and that would pair nicely with—

He stopped short. His door was open, light flooding out into the hallway. The tread of heavy boots sounded from within, and then a gruff voice spoke:

"There's nothing here. Do we wait for him to come back?"

The crackle of a walkie talkie sounded in response, followed by a growling voice that Bilbo couldn't quite make out.

Heart pounding in his throat, he turned invisible again and crept towards the door. The frame was slightly chipped from where the lock had been busted. Standing just inside was a pale man all in black, with what he assumed was a bulletproof vest strapped to his chest. A pistol hung from his belt, and a rifle was slung over his shoulder.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Bilbo took a look at the rest of his apartment. His kitchen cabinets had all been opened, their contents spilled onto the floor. His couch cushions had been upended, and a trail of papers led into his study, which had no doubt been left in the same state.

Tears pricked his eyes. He didn't understand what they were looking for, or what they would possibly want with him. He wasn't anything close to involved with any mutant groups. He hadn't so much as illegally downloaded a movie from the internet.

Ears ringing, he turned away from the door. Whatever the reason, he wasn't safe here. Bilbo hurried back down the hallway and back down the stairs. Surely he could go to one of his cousins' houses, or find a motel to stay in until he could sort things out.

Bilbo was so preoccupied, he didn't register the thump of boots on the stairwell until another man in black turned the corner and nearly ran into him. Still invisible, he tried to back up, but his heel slipped against the wet wood and he fell onto the stairs with a _thump_.

The man looked down in confusion for a moment, then realization dawned on his face. "I found him!" He shouted up the stairs, and reached for his gun.

With a strangled gasp, Bilbo turned heel and scrambled back up the stairs. Something shot past his face and exploded against the far wall, and he let out a yelp. A cloud of plaster and splinters of wood rained to the floor.

Footsteps pounded on the wood behind him, and the hallway beyond was thrown into commotion as three men stepped out of his apartment. The one with the walkie pulled his rifle from his shoulder. "Where is he?"

"Somewhere here," the other said, only a yard behind him. "I heard him, but I didn't see him."

Trying to keep his panicked breathing to a minimum, Bilbo rushed down the hallway, dodging the men as they fruitlessly looked around.

"Lower your weapons," the pale one said. "He won't be able to hide for long."

Bilbo did not pause to ponder what that meant. He reached the end of the hallway and threw open the window. The scraping noise alerted the men in the hallway, but he'd already climbed through, back into the rain and onto the fire escape.

The cold metal was slippery between his palms as he began climbing down. The ladder would put him in the alley next to the building, but hopefully he'd be able to get to the street before the men caught up to him.

With shaking hands that missed the latch more than once, he lowered the ladder down to the ground and made the final descent to the soaked concrete below.

His feet had only just touched the ground when the four men rounded the corner, blocking his exit from the alleyway. Breathing hard, Bilbo pressed himself against the wall. Eventually, one of them would have to make an opening, and then he would make a break for it.

One of the men turned to the pale one, who was presumably the leader. "Did we miss him?"

The other man grinned. "Only one way to find out." He held up a device, a metal cylinder with a blue light on top, and pressed a button.

A high-pitched ringing filled the air, and the noise cut through Bilbo's head like a knife. He cried out, falling to his knees and clamping both ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sound. Even as his vision began to blur, he looked down at his quite-visible knees and realized with horror that he'd become visible again.

He glanced back up at the men, who were smirking down at him, and tried in vain to vanish again. Whatever that device was, it was making it impossible for him to use his powers.

One of the men stepped towards him, rifle aimed, and Bilbo stumbled back with a wince. The sound was becoming unbearable, nearly drowning out everything else—his ragged breathing, the patter of rain on the concrete, the low growl of a motorcycle.

Light flooded the alley, casting long black shadows in front of the group of men. They turned, raising their guns as a tall figure stepped off the motorcycle.

A half dozen gunshots rang out, the sharp series of noises bouncing off the walls of the alleyway, and Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, still trying in vain to block out the horrible noise. The thud of a body hitting the ground sent a slight shudder through the concrete.

With a crack, the high-pitched sound finally stopped. Bilbo opened his eyes, gasping, and realized it was one of the attackers that had fallen. A few feet away, the broken remains of the device lay on the ground.

The newcomer, a tall man with dark hair, was busy fighting off the remaining three. He punched one of the men in the stomach, beneath his vest, and deflected another's rifle with his other hand. A bullet ricocheted off the fire escape with a _ping_.

Blood spattered the ground, mixing immediately with the falling rain. A moment later, the man who had fired the rifle fell into the red puddle, choking on a gaping wound in his throat. Bilbo looked up, and his eyes widened as he realized the dark-haired man had three long, silver _claws_ extending from his fists. With a shout, he stabbed the other man in the gut once more, then threw him to the ground.

The alley fell silent, save for the patter of rain and the choked grunts of the downed men. Bilbo distantly registered that their pale-skinned leader was nowhere to be found, probably having fled sometime during the fight.

Bloody water splashed as the dark-haired man crossed the alley. His strange claws slid back into his hands as he moved.

_He's like me_. This thought did nothing to alleviate his terror, however. Bilbo tried to stand, but his legs were stiff with fear and cold, and he could do little more than wobble into a crouch.

The man took hold of his sweater and lifted him the rest of the way up, despite Bilbo's squeak of protest. "Come with me."

"H-Hang on," he said, trying to pull out of his grasp—though perhaps that wasn't his best option at the moment, since he still wasn't sure if he could stand on his own. "I don't know w-what those men wanted with me. I'm not involved in anything, I swear."

He looked down at Bilbo, his eyes grim but not unkind. "They'll send more after you. I can take you somewhere safe."

"What? You mean a place for...for…" The rest of his question hung unspoken in the air, and Bilbo realized with dread that he'd been caught up in precisely the thing he'd been trying to avoid.

"We don't have much time." The man released him and began walking back towards his motorcycle.

He started to shiver. There was nowhere else for him to go—his apartment was very clearly not safe, and the last thing he wanted to do was bring those horrible people anywhere near his friends and family. At the very least, this man _had_ saved him from...whatever those people had planned to do with him.

With unsteady strides, Bilbo made to follow him. The man threw one long leg over the motorcycle and watched him, uncaring of the rainwater running down his face.

"Um." He stopped just next to the vehicle. "I've never ridden one of these things before. And a-aren't we supposed to wear helmets?"

"You'll be fine," he replied with an impatient jerk of the head. "Now, get on."

It wasn't as if he had much of a choice. Bilbo climbed on behind him, hoping the man didn't mind if he used his shoulders to aid his balance. The motorcycle's engine rumbled, and then they were pulling away from the curb. They gained speed quickly, and Bilbo reached forward to clutch the soaked black leather of the man's jacket.

On either side, the storefronts and familiar lights of his hometown whipped by. The rain hit his skin in little pelting stings, and Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as they raced into the night.

* * *

They didn't stop until a few hours after the sun had risen, but it was far too cold for Bilbo to get any sleep. The rain had mercifully stopped a few hours ago, and the wind from the ride had partially dried him off, but his teeth were chattering by the time they pulled up to a gas station.

The place was fairly isolated, bordered on three sides by trees, and mostly empty save for the cashier sitting in the dingy convenience store at the back of the lot. Bilbo eyed him warily for a moment, still shaken from last night's events, but the man appeared innocently absorbed in his magazine.

He slid off the motorcycle and stretched with a wince, his legs rather stiff from sitting in one position for so long. The man dismounted as well and walked over to the gas pump.

Bilbo crossed his arms to try and conserve some body heat. "So, um, do you have a name?" There were far more pressing questions on his mind, mainly having to do with the men who had raided the apartment, but he thought he would start with the basics.

The man glanced at him as he put some money into the fuel dispenser. Now that it was light out, Bilbo could get a better look at him. His short black hair was tousled from the wind and rain, and his dark beard still looked a bit damp. His striking blue eyes and sharp nose gave him an appearance of severity, but his voice was less so as he said, "Thorin."

"Bilbo," he replied, nodding as if they were only acquaintances running into each other at a coffee shop. "I s-suppose I should thank you for saving my life."

"They wouldn't have killed you there," Thorin said, taking the gas pump and beginning to fill his bike. "Azog's agents aren't known for being merciful like that." An edge of anger entered his voice, but he kept his gaze fixed downwards.

He stored that name away for later, and took a step forwards. "What was that device they used, anyway? I-I couldn't use my powers with that noise…" The memory of that painful ringing came back to him, and he shuddered slightly.

"It's a new device they've developed, that does exactly that. It's how they've been able to capture so many mutants in the past few months."

Bilbo didn't know exactly what "so many" meant, and wasn't sure he wanted to. He hadn't seen anything about this on the news. "Who were those people? You mentioned an Azog?"

That mention made him tense up slightly. "Government agents. They—"

"What?" His mouth fell open. "You can't be serious. I-I know the government isn't entirely _friendly_ to mutants, but that doesn't mean they would...that they…"

Thorin turned to him, his gaze sharpening into something that was not quite a glare. "They would. They just don't want the public knowing about it—that's why their uniforms are unmarked. They've built a prison out east for the ones that they catch."

And that was where he would have ended up, had it not been for Thorin. Bilbo swallowed against the nausea rising in his throat. "How did you find me, then? Why are you helping me?"

"Someone asked me to." He replaced the gas pump and climbed back onto the motorcycle.

Bilbo frowned at that—while it was nice to know there was a mysterious someone looking out for him, he still wasn't exactly clear on what was going on. As he stepped closer to the bike, he noticed a small hole at the back of Thorin's jacket, one perfectly sized for a bullet.

"Are you all right? Did you get hurt, back there?" There was a bit of dried blood on the torn edge of the hole.

"I'm fine," Thorin said, and he seemed to be telling the truth. "Come on. We need to get going."

"And where are we going, exactly?" Bilbo asked, but received no response. After a moment's consideration, he climbed back on the motorcycle. It would do him no good to dawdle at a gas station in god knows where. Most likely they would be heading towards this mysterious benefactor who had sent Thorin after him.

With that, they set off once more, leaving home behind and heading towards whatever was to come somewhere down the road.

**I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it!**

**Next chapter we will meet Bilbo's mysterious benefactor (who I'm sure you've all guessed at this point) and learn the fate of Bilbo's sandwich...**


End file.
